Of Cake And Coffee
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Set during and possibly after Season 4's "The Bar Stoolie". At Melville's, Sam and Diane discuss many things: writing, reading...and ultimately, each other. And of course it wouldn't be Sam and Diane without angst, games, and simmering romance. Three chapters in all; rated "T" just to be safe. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This story is set during and immediately after Season 4's "The Bar Stoolie". I hadn't intended it to be _quite_ this long, but...somehow, it suddenly became an in-depth look at their relationship and their inner conflicts at this point of the show. They're _this close_...and yet****—**

**Anyway, the idea that Diane is fond of Raymond Chandler's work—something I'd referred to in "Always Glad You Came"—is basically my explanation for why she was able to quickly launch into "moll-speak" in "Sam Turns The Other Cheek". I picked Chandler, because Diane isn't making up how the creator of Phillip Marlowe, P.I., is regarded in the literary world.._._especially _The Long Goodbye_. Also, I'm sure the Marlowe-Loring dynamic would very much appeal to Diane...**

* * *

One of the many things Sam Malone apparently kept having to learn about the woman walking next to him, as they entered _Melville's_, was that once she got going, only _she_ could make her give it a rest—safely, anyway.

"After all," Diane Chambers said, "While there certainly _is_ an argument to be made in _favor_ of minimalism, in that 'less' is allegedly 'more'—the simple fact, nonetheless, is that _excessive_ 'leanness', if you will, will almost certainly lead to the reader failing to register the full _impact_ of the emotions the author had intended to invoke. So at times, it's actually better to 'slow down', if you will—savor the moment, _dwell_ upon it; _emphasize_ it, with words…with _poetry_ in the prose. In fact…"

She paused, and chuckled at herself. "Well…your opinion, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, you're sure never one for _minimal_, I can tell you that," he muttered.

Diane tilted her head, with a shrug of her own. "Mm—well, I suppose. But then, one wonders how _you_ could say such a thing with authority…."

"My ears."

Diane sighed, and chuckled, "_Sam_…aside from the occasional poem, which of my works have you _read_?"

"Other than _our_ book—Miss Bourget?" Sam grinned at her.

The two shared a laugh at the memory, as they approached the waiter. He smiled, and escorted them to the table—the table for _two_, at last. And there was the cheesecake, as promised.

"Yeah, uh—how about two coffees, huh?" Sam added to the waiter.

"Of course, sir," the man replied. "And how would you like it?"

After the two placed their orders, and the waiter left to see them through, Diane sighed in happy release as she took her seat—the one Sam made sure to pull out for her, gaining her smiling thanks in the process. _(What the hey,_ he mused. _If you're gonna go, go all out.)_

"Ironic, Sam," she said, "I'd actually all but forgotten about that."

"What, _my_ story? Come on," Sam grinned, taking his seat, "Don't go telling me you forgot all that water we wasted, cooling down just for the next _page_!"

Diane raised her finger. "_Sam_…I said I'd 'all _but_ forgotten'. There _is_ a difference, of course."

"Yeah, sure. Speaking of which—did I ever tell you? I actually had it published."

Diane had just taken her fork and severed the point of her cheesecake from the rest—but upon hearing this, she dropped it onto the plate, and looked at him, wide-eyed. "Published?"

"Well…yeah? What, did you think I was gonna let it sit around, collecting dust?"

"Well, no, but…I'd thought, perhaps, it would have needed a last read-through—for editing purposes, understand…."

Sam grinned at her. "You know—somehow, I get the idea if we'd have thought of that, there wouldn't have _been_ a 'last' read-through. Besides, I had to do _something_ to get the memory away—I mean, for all I knew, you were good as gone!"

Diane froze. "Sam…when was this?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"When did you send it to be published?"

"Well, it was after Italy—after _I_ came back, anyway."

"Oh…of course." She looked a _little_ relieved, and picked up her fork again, beginning to eat.

Sam chuckled. "What, you think I'd have been able to turn it in, when I was _drunk_?"

Diane shrugged. "Involving you, Sam, far more peculiar things _have _occurred."

"Uh-huh."

Diane peered at him, with a concerned frown, "Might I ask exactly _where_ my share of the royalties is? Assuming, of course, you _did_ separate my share from yours…."

Sam made sure to look hurt. "Sweetheart—come on! You think I'd rip you off like that?"

"Well, assuming you'd react to your heartbreak as you _normally_ would…"

"Don't flatter yourself, okay?"

"_Regardless_—perhaps you'd have considered it an act of cold vengeance?"

"Come on—I'm not _that_ slick."

"_Sam_," Diane leaned forward, with a smirk, "Where is it?"

Sam let out a scoff, and spread out his hands. "It's in the _account_, Diane!—remember _that_ one? We set it up the day after we started writing?—And splashing?"

Diane shook her head with a chuckle. "Well, I'm astonished it's still in existence!"

"Hey, give me some credit, will ya?—I've been a good enough customer of theirs, they'd do that kind of favor."

Diane nodded…and looked off, deep in thought.

The waiter came back, with the two coffees—prepared just as the two of them had ordered. Sam thanked him as the waiter set down the mugs…before the man sped off, to his next table.

"Diane?"

She turned to him, "Hmm?"

Sam smirked, reached into his pocket—and tossed her a penny.

Diane caught it, stared at it for a moment, and grinned at him. "For my thoughts, I suppose?"

"You got it."

Diane shrugged, as she pocketed the coin. "I just…well, I find it quite ironic, that my first published work would be the sort of thing to which I'd _never_ have wanted my actual name attached."

Sam smiled. "Smut and steam?"

"Call it that." Diane paused, and then asked, "So, then…what can I expect, were I to _access_ said account?"

"You know, I made it a point not to look in it—funny thing."

"Well, you must have put two and two together—assuming you've received an identical income from it."

"Maybe, but I didn't care much to notice, either way. I said I'd wanted to forget it, remember?"

"Ah-huh. Well, Sam, there you have it: as of now, I have no published work under my _actual_ name…but I have _one_, bursting with little more substance than sordid and lurid sensuality, written under a _nom de plume_."

"There you go."

"And it isn't as though I could use it to enhance my _desired_ career in writing."

Sam shrugged. "You never know. I don't suppose you've ever tried your hand at a book, before?"

Diane smiled. "Funny of you to mention that, Sam. Actually, there _were_ several—well, _attempts_ at writing a novel. I've finished quite a few shorter works—for practice only, none published—but…on occasion, I'd discover the 'germ' of something larger."

"Great!—so, what happened?"

"As a rule, I began to write, and soon fell out of 'love', if you will, with the project.…" Diane looked off, her smile turning nostalgic, "Still, there was _one_, I think…. I promised myself I'd return to it, some day—when I could view it with fresh eyes."

Sam took a big sip from his coffee. "What was it about?"

Diane took a sip of her own—a quick, light sip, and then she set it down. "Oh, call it an 'odyssey', if you will. It concerns a woman on a quest for knowledge about her own identity—and it's connection to the world she knows, and loves. And in the process…she comes to discover a deep and _darkly_ personal secret—concerning not only her, but those closest to her heart. She becomes quite conflicted over whether the truth must be brought to the light—whether it will set things free, or…simply bring unnecessary pain, and suffering." She shrugged. "Well—I suppose that's the proverbial 'nutshell'."

Sam leaned forward a little, with a smirk. "Sounds exciting."

"Perhaps…but I've always wondered if my worldview is too—_idealistic_ and benevolent to fully do _justice_ to such a theme. I haven't written the 'revelation', yet, and I've…long suspected that, in order to truly give a sense of _authenticity_ to it, I'd have to be coming from a very dark place, myself—suffering some sort of terrible pain, or loss…or what have you. To be blunt, Sam, I can barely imagine such a thing ever occurring, so as to bring me that _low_, emotionally." Diane sighed, "I suppose I've always been a romantic at heart."

"No kidding!"

Diane gave him a Look. Sam chuckled, shrugging with an innocent smile.

Diane shook her head, "Oh, Sam…" she said in a near-whisper, "What am I going to do with you?"

"With me? Well, hopefully finish dessert, and then—see where the evening takes us…?"

Diane was clearly fighting a chuckle. "That's _not_ what I meant…."

"I know. So, how far _did_ you get on that book?"

Diane shrugged. "You know, Sam…it's been so long, I can barely remember it—just the concept, and the title—_Jocasta's Conundrum_, if you were wondering."

"Yeah, it _would_ have a name like that…."

Diane sighed.

"Sorry," Sam chuckled. "It sounds…different. Not in a bad way, but…"

Diane nodded. "I know what you're trying to say, Sam. The truth is, I _thought_ it would be an appropriate name."

"Hey, I didn't say it wasn't."

"Of course, to be fair," Diane hastily added, as if not hearing Sam's last interjection, "I'd hardly think _my_ heroine's conflict could reasonably parallel with that of the _actual_ Jocasta, of the Oedipus myth."

"Diane, you kinda lost me, there."

Diane paused, braced herself, and said, "To be honest, Sam, I'd rather not spell out the myth. It's one of the more…disturbing ones."

"Oh, okay. Fair enough."

"Thank you."

Sam leaned to her again. "In all seriousness, hon—when you get the chance, see if you can't take a crack at finishing that book. I'm sure there's some…moody stuff in your life you can mine, to help out on that. And, hey—title or not, it sounds great."

Diane leaned back in her seat, looking off thoughtfully. After a moment, she met Sam's gaze. "I might," she said. "But to be honest, Sam, I have far too many things occupying my time as of now. I know—a writer devoted to her craft must _make_ the time, but…I'm currently focusing on my poetry, at the moment."

Sam nodded quickly, "Sure!—it's shorter, and you feel good about finishing it a lot sooner—and a lot more times than one, huh?"

"I suppose…." Diane picked at her cheesecake, and took another bite.

"You know," Sam said, after taking a big bite of his own, "Sounds a little weird coming from _me_, but…I've been scouring that library for _something_ to get on track—"

Diane blinked. "You…library?"

"Yeah…? I said I'd get a card, didn't I?"

"Well—of course! But…Sam I-I thought…"

Sam chuckled. "What, you thought I was just saying it to turn you on?"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Now, come on—you were all over me. Don't tell me it _didn't_."

Diane straightened up. "Well! I _admit_ that…I found the possibility of your at last integrating a sense of _culture_ into your being somewhat—attractive."

"_Somewhat_?"

"And as I recall, you tried to squeeze me to death. I was…quite disappointed."

"Yeah, that'd be a turn-off, huh?"

"Yeah!" Diane took her mug, and had another sip. "You know, Sam, I don't think I'll ever be capable of comprehending your…swings of mood."

"_Oh_…" Sam nodded with a grin, "Look who's talking!"

Diane stiffened. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Sam leaned forward. "You know _exactly_ what it means. Diane, you're a real drama queen—and you know it."

Diane scoffed, head back. "Well! At least _I_ have the common decency to not try and _kill_ you, just to avoid an honest payment!"

"I wasn't trying to _kill_ you, sweetheart…!"

"Uh-huh."

"Come on—how'd you _think_ I'd feel? I went through all that trouble…"

"_Sam_—if you hadn't taken the book out of the safe…something I'd asked you _specifically_ not to have done—I doubt you'd have _had_ to pay for it!"

"I know—but to be honest, I really _was_ getting into the darn thing." Sam looked off, rubbing his brow, "I sure wouldn't have brought it to the darned _tub_, if I wasn't. I'm an idiot, you know. You say it all the time, huh?—and _there_, you're right."

Diane shrugged. "Well…I suppose I must give you credit, after all. You _did_ read—and comprehend. And now I hear you _are_ going to the library, after all!"

"Yeah…but you know, it's not like I haven't read, before—_War and Peace_, right?"

Diane nodded, smiling warmly at the memory.

"Still, even without that—yeah, I've had my share of Westerns…though I sure tend to lean more to the movie side of things."

"Naturally."

"But still, hey, Zane Gray and that Louis guy…"

"Louis L'Amour," Diane's smile grew.

"Right! So, you read him?"

"Not at all—but I know the name, Sam."

"Okay…well, I've read _that_ kind of stuff. I know, you probably think that's…"

"Oh, no, Sam—not at all! They're still considered the greats of the genre. I suppose I'd applaud your tastes, on that."

"Well, that's a relief."

"It's hardly Dostoyevsky, but it _is_ a start."

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome, Sam," Diane purred, with an innocent smile.

Sam looked off, to steady himself on the inside. The way she'd look at him in these moments…the sparkle in her eyes, and the voice…

"Anyway," he muttered, as he turned back to her, "I…guess what I'm trying to say is—and I can't believe I'm saying it…in fact I'll probably regret this in the morning, but…" he sighed, "What would you recommend?"

Diane blinked, and chuckled in bewilderment, shaking her head, "You…are asking _me_ for—"

"I know—imagine that, huh? But hey, _you_ put me up to this, so it might as _well_ be you."

"Well—of course, Sam! And naturally, I _would_ be an ideal choice as your counselor in matters of literary pursuits, _however_…I'm astonished you'd be one to admit it."

"Yeah. Goes to show how desperate I am."

"_Sam_…" Diane shook her head, "This kind of progress can't be achieved without the _fullest_ sincerity."

"All right, all right. So, what do you think?—and keep in mind I don't want to fall asleep before I get into it."

"Well, in that case, I suppose bedtime stories are out."

"Come on, Diane—I'm _serious_!"

Diane gave another innocent smile, and added, "In _all_ seriousness, Sam—in your case, and with your personality in mind, I can strongly recommend Raymond Chandler."

Sam smiled. "Been there."

Diane blinked, her eyes wide, and her own smile grew. "You…have?"

"Sure—Phillip Marlowe, Private Eye. Funny _you_ should bring it up."

Diane chuckled silently. "Well, in my case, I was entreated to Chandler via my class in Modern American Literature."

"And _that's_ what they came up with?"

"Along with Wolfe, Faulkner, and Hemmingway—among others."

"Still, a private _detective_ series?"

"Why, Sam!—no one isn't about to suggest that the works of Agatha Christie or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle shouldn't be regarded as _literature_."

"Yeah, but _that_?"

Diane smiled again, and nodded. "Strangely enough, Chandler is credited with elevating 'pulp fiction' into literary status."

Sam grinned. "Well—guess I'm feeling better about myself!"

"Of course you are. But which of his novels _have_ you read?"

"I'm…pretty sure all of them. Took a while, though."

Diane's smile grew. "_The Long Goodbye_?"

"Maybe; run it by me?"

"All right…there, Marlowe befriends a man who drinks heavily—he tries to help him, but the man flees to Mexico, and after Marlowe learns of his death—"

"Wait—I'm pretty sure I know that one. The dead guy's accused of killing his wife, right?"

Diane nodded. "Mm-hmm! Well…_having_ killed his wife, anyway."

"Yeah…hey, didn't Marlowe actually fall for a girl in that one? Rich one…L-L, something, uh—"

"Linda Loring."

"Yeah. You know, it's funny? The 'L-L'…"

"How so?"

"Well, I don't know if you've ever read any _Superman_ comics…?"

Diane sighed, and shrugged. "If I did, I don't recall much."

"Well, Superman's big love is Lois Lane—reporter, uh…?"

"I've heard of her, Sam. I'm reasonably sure I've seen at least one of the films. But—"

"Okay, well, there's _her_…and there's Lana _Lang_, his crush in high school—'L-L'. Throw Lux Luther in there—guess it's an inside joke, or something."

Diane leaned back in her seat, looking off…and to Sam, she looked a little deflated.

_Sure she is—we were talking about what to get in the library, and I start bringing up comic books._

"Well, I just thought that was interesting," Sam muttered.

Diane looked at him, with a little apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Sam—that isn't my kind of…"

"No, fine—I do it to you all the time; figures you'd do it."

"Well, at any rate, looking back at the story—"

"Superman, or Phillip Marlowe?"

"_Marlowe_, Sam," Diane replied, with a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Sorry—go on."

"Thank you. At any rate, I recall wishing that the relationship would have been explored a bit more—just a tad, Sam, I understand the need for the story as the central focus of the novel, but…I found the dynamic most fascinating. After all, Marlowe is, as Chandler described him, 'a poor man and a common man and yet an unusual man'…"

"I wouldn't call him 'common'," Sam gave a smirk.

Diane chuckled, "Well, not in _that_ sense, no, but…Chandler described him as the sort of man who could 'go about common people'. A man of 'blue-collar' culture, if you will."

"Okay, fair enough. How about Linda?"

Diane looked off with a warm smile, "A cultured, refined, yet spirited young woman with a background in wealthy 'high society', who easily matches wits with Marlowe…" She turned to Sam, still with the smile. "I recall several verbal sparring matches between the two of them."

"Sure," Sam replied. "Didn't they hit the sack at one point?"

The truth was, Sam had felt the need to throw in something like that. He didn't really care for where the conversation was going. The way she was describing the two characters was getting pretty eerie, to be honest.

Diane blinked—and chuckled nervously, gaze lowered. "Well…yes. Late in the book—the night before they say their goodbyes…."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's coming back to me—Marlowe thought it wouldn't last, right?"

Diane pursed her lips, swallowed, and nodded. "I—that's right." She quickly added, "But it was partly due to the fact that she was _used_ to a world of wealth and privilege, and he was currently more-or-less married to _his_ line of work, and—"

Sam chuckled, "You're pretty invested, don't you think?"

Diane froze, and nodded with another swallow. "Yes, I…suppose you're right."

"Right? What about?"

Diane blinked again, and sighed, "Never mind."

"No—come on! What's up?"

Diane tensed once again, and managed to say, "I'll admit, Sam, that I _can_, at times, become too…emotionally connected to such things."

Sam nodded with a smirk. "Like I told you, you're a real—"

"Don't."

Sam shrugged. "Still…I wouldn't say that's all a _bad_ thing. Not really."

_Oh, sure—what are you saying, Sammy? Her overreacting to everything, that's what's caused a heck of a lot of problems between you two—right? So…what, are you just trying to make her feel better, or what?_

Diane stared at him…and as her smile returned, her eyes looked ready to hold a few tears.

"Really, Sam?" she asked in a near whisper.

Sam tensed a little, looking off to gather herself.

_Easy, Sammy. She looks at you like that, and it's easy as heck to break and find yourself falling for her._

He managed to smile at her. "I guess. I mean—taking things too seriously, well, _that's_…"

She nodded, taking her cloth napkin to dab at her eyes. "I've…noticed."

"But—you know, I wouldn't exactly care for a cold Diane…or should I say colder?"

Diane threw her napkin at him.

Sam laughed. "Oh, come on!"

Diane slumped, shaking her head. "I am _not_ cold," she pouted.

"I know—that's what I was saying!" Sam spread out his hands. "Geez, Diane, _one_ little joke, and you forget everything I just—?"

"I didn't 'forget', Sam. You're just…so _impossible_, at times."

Sam grinned. "You know, while we're on the subject of impossible…"

"Sam, _please_—let's not. We get into so much trouble over things like _that_."

Sam nodded. "All right…what do you want to talk about?"

Diane tilted her head. "I would _prefer_ we focus on the current subject at hand—in this case, Sam, your reading."

"Right. Okay, well—something that _you'd_ find 'good', that I'd be able to read easy."

"Well in that case, I could give so many examples—Robert Louis Stevenson, Mark Twain…"

"Hey, I've read some of that, too."

Diane nodded, "Right. But—" she blinked, looking at him in astonishment, "Sam…suddenly, you're revealing the extent of a side of you I've almost never seen!"

"Yeah, you and me both. I _have_ some of those books, but it's been a while. A lot of it, I _had_ to read in high school—and a lot of the rest, to settle my parents. Lot of good _that_ did…"

Diane nodded, lowering her gaze. "Well, I suppose the point is…so many of the classics are so very compelling, and timeless—which is frankly why they're considered classics."

"Maybe. I tried to read _Moby Dick_ once—didn't go so well."

Diane smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel better, Sam, I actually find that understandable. In my opinion, the book is frankly a structural _mess_—although, to be fair to Melville, it did pave the way for many experimental works to come, a sort of herald to postmodern literature, a la James Joyce. And of course, Captain Ahab has long become a well-known element in Western culture, as an archetype for enraged pursuers of vengeance, where no—"

"Diane…" Sam straightened up.

Diane nodded. "Right…." She took her fork again, and had another bite of the cheesecake.

_She's such a chatterbox—but you know, there's always been something cute about it—something that's so…_her_. I guess it's part of what I lo—_like_ about her. LIKE about her!—not—_

Oh, what was his _problem_? Every time this happened—_every time_—it ended up with him starting to think that _maybe_—

_Stop it! Don't think about it…don't even go _near_ it, or you're _dead_!_

Sam tackled his cheesecake, finishing within a second.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam?" Diane looked up.

"Hmm?"

"If I may ask…what's possessed you, to suddenly want to increase your literacy?"

Sam shrugged. "You know, I couldn't really tell you."

Diane peered at him, with a smirk. "Couldn't—or _wouldn't_?"

"Oh, come on, does this kind of thing _always_ have to be—look, I don't know! I _guess_ I thought it'd be something great of me to do—something to make me _feel_ great about it."

"Feel…?"

"Smart, I dunno…look, I don't think I'd have to tell you how stupid I feel every time someone starts talking about some _book_—and they act like everyone should know what they're talking about, and if you _don't_, they're shocked."

Diane's smile faded, and she swallowed. "Sam…"

"No, don't worry about it—you're not shocked, you're _amused_ at it."

Diane stared at the remnants of her cheesecake, saying nothing.

"I dunno…I guess I just want to—not have to cover for it by making fun of it. I mean, that kind of thing matters a lot to you…right?"

Diane looked at him, and nodded. "It does, Sam."

"Well…there you go. Boy, I can't tell you how stupid I felt with Claudia today—with or without you."

Diane stiffened at the name. "I…I certainly didn't notice—"

"Oh, come on, Diane—I put that aside, because I wanted to score with her. But of course, she's this stuffy, brainy _dame_ who doesn't even _pretend_ to care about the things _I_ know about…" Sam gave a light shrug, "And there you go."

Diane looked a little disappointed, as she said, "So…you want to stock up on your literary memory so as to more successfully—how did you put it—_score_ with intelligent women."

"Well…_maybe_—but not just with that, okay? It's happened with Frasier, too. We're supposed to be friends—and he's trying his best to fit in with _my_ side of the tracks. Maybe I should try returning the favor, for once…."

Diane smiled faintly. "But Sam, you could always ask _him_ for advice—he's certainly at _least_ as well-read as I am. But instead, you're coming to me."

"Yeah, because I _know_ you better than him!—and vice-versa. You know my tastes, don't you?"

"More or less—unfortunately."

"Ha, ha."

"Really, Sam…I was under the impression that you wanted to _expand_ your 'tastes', via your reading."

"I do—but hey, I've got my limits, like everyone else. I mean, I wouldn't ask you to read _Sports Illustrated_!"

"Thank heaven."

"See—_see_?"

Diane chuckled, shaking her head. "_Sam_…this isn't the first time you've had an intelligent woman in your, how shall I say it, your 'sights'."

Sam grinned, "Other than you?"

Diane just smiled, and went on. "There was _also_ that woman, where—so as to succeed with her—you constantly asked _me_ for information on such things as Impressionism—_without_, I might add, explaining to me your reasons."

Sam sighed, "You know, I still feel pretty bad about that."

"As well you _should_! Anyway—"

"Hey, but you got to run the bar when I was gone, didn't—?"

"I didn't know that was what you meant!"

Sam frowned, staring at her. "What did you…_think_ I meant?"

Diane suddenly looked like she was fighting a blush, as she took another bite.

"Diane?"

"Never mind that—suffice it to say, I was left feeling bewildered and dejected, to say the least. The _point_, Sam—"

Sam grinned. "Well, how about that?"

"_Sam_, will you just—!"

"Okay, fine—what's up?"

"_Thank_ you! Now, the _point_ is—since our relationship, I've noticed attempts on your part to enhance your…'credentials' as far as higher culture are concerned. Now, that causes me to wonder—"

"Hang on," Sam chuckled, still ginning inside at his discovery, "Sweetheart, this is _not_ just to pick up smart chicks, all right?"

"I'm aware of that!"

"_Thank_ you—wait," Sam stared at her, his smile fading a little, "What do you think it's about?"

Diane paused. "_Well_…it's not the sort of thing you'd admit to, Sam."

"Come on, try me."

"All right," Diane smiled at him, "I think you're trying to impress me."

Sam let out a scoff, "Oh—come on, what—_Diane_!"

"Why, _Sam_—the first time I've ever _heard_ you consider a library card, at least recently, was when we were in your office, in each other's arms…"

"Well, sure, but—Diane, it's not—"

Diane straightened up confidently, obviously _reveling_ in the fact that _Sam_ was now the one all on edge, and said, "Sam, are you going to look me in the eye and tell me your newfound interest in books has _nothing_ to do with me?"

Sam didn't bat an eye. "_No_—I'm not."

Diane blinked. "You're…not?"

"What, were you expecting me to deny and deny until you pry it out of me?"

"Essentially, yes!"

"Well, I can't stand your prying, so I might as well admit _that_."

Diane stared at him. "Sam…are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Sam smiled. Sometimes "surrender" is the best way to win. "Depends. What do you think I'm saying—that I'm still head-over-heels for you, or something?"

"Well…"

"You wish."

Diane sighed, "All right, then! What is it, _really_?"

_Shoot._ Sam paused, gathering his words carefully. Finally, he said, "Diane…you know how much your opinion means to me—you know how much I want you to think of me as…well, as a good person."

Diane nodded, saying nothing.

"Well…maybe what I'm saying is—I want to be able to…"

He paused, and found he couldn't go on. The truth was, now that he thought of it, it sounded very much like he _was_ trying to "impress" her. Suddenly "surrender" didn't seem like a good tactic after all.

Diane's gaze lowered, as she took her coffee, sipping. Finally, she said, "You want me to…think of you as smart?"

"Well—I want you to think I'm…" he shook his head, "I dunno," he muttered as he took a big sip of his coffee.

"Oh, Sam…" Diane put her hand on his. "Are you only doing this because you think _I'd_ want you to?"

"Hey, don't tell me you don't."

"Sam, why should it matter to you?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, I…"

_Oh, great, here we go again—once again…she's twisted it into "Sam, you're harboring a desire for me, and you know it, but can't admit it"! Sheesh, how does she do it?_

_Well…I _did_ invite her up here—didn't I?_

Sam let out a sigh, "Diane, honestly, asking myself whether you'd approve of something or not…I really think it's helped make me a better person. I don't like to admit it, but it's true."

Diane's smile grew. "Why, Sam, that's so…"

"Hold on—it isn't just you, come to think of it."

Maybe a little too late for that—but there you go.

Diane shook her head. "Really…?"

"Well, you know—I'm a jock. I like knowing what I'm good at—and making myself the best at it. I mean—I read that _War and Peace_ book in five days…and after I was able to _sleep_ on it…"

Diane chuckled.

Sam nodded, "…you know, I felt pretty good! I _did_ something I didn't think I could do! I—I was _sure_ it would've been the most boring thing I've ever read in my life, but…the truth is, I _swear_, I actually kinda got into it, a bit."

Diane nodded. "So, you wish to explore this new side of yourself—and enhance it to the best of your ability, is that it?"

"If you said what I'm pretty sure I heard—yeah, I guess so."

Diane chuckled again, "Well—either way, Sam, I'm glad you're doing it."

Sam smiled at her. "Well, I'm glad you're glad I'm doing it."

Diane grinned. "_Well_…I'm glad that _you're_ glad that I'm—"

"Okay, this is getting weird."

Diane nodded, as they shared a laugh.

Within a minute, their cheesecake was finished, and Diane shook her head with a smile as she took back her napkin.

Sam returned it. "What?"

"Oh, it's only…I'm glad I accepted your invitation, Sam. Regardless of your _reasons_ for inviting me, I'm grateful you did."

Sam shrugged. "There's still the coffee."

Diane nodded, taking the mug. "Why, yes there is."

"Well…you know something?"

Diane sipped the mug—finishing. "Hmm?"

"You know, for all your talk about changing the subject—we sure got off _your_ book pretty fast."

Diane shrugged. "I wasn't aware there was more to talk about, on that…."

"Well—if you ever do get around to it again, why not let me have a look, huh?"

Diane shook her head with a chuckle. "Sam…I doubt it would be your cup of tea—or coffee, in this case."

"Come on, what makes _you_ so sure?"

"_Sam_—the conflict of my heroine is as a rule internal. I doubt it would have sufficient…_action_ to appeal to _your_ tastes."

"Hey—what were we talking about? I'm trying to _expand_ my 'tastes', and something by you…well, worst-case, I'll have a good cure for insomnia."

Diane threw her napkin at him again. "Oh, you're _awful_!"

Sam laughed, playing with the napkin before he tossed it back. "As opposed to what?"

"As _opposed_ to a man willing to move beyond petty interests, so as to broaden his horizons."

"You don't think I am?"

"I think you're torn between wanting to _be_ that, and wanting to just stay where you are, with your idea of 'fun'. You, Sam Malone, are a man-child, and you'll stay that way until the day you _choose_ to grow up."

Much as he hated whenever she said something like that—usually because of the satisfied, matter-of-fact, not-open-for-debate-or-discussion way she said it—Sam managed to keep a smile on his face. "So what do you really think?"

"I believe I just said it."

"Uh-huh. And you want to know what I think about _you_?"

"Go ahead," Diane said with a shrug, "I couldn't care less."

"I think _you're_ obsessed with thinking of yourself as a teacher of the—whatcha say, that one time: 'the unwashed masses' or something?"

"Essentially."

"There you go—you're this…brilliant, _righteous_ teacher guiding people like me to follow people like you. And if we don't, we're a bunch of spoiled little brats with brains like apes."

"Well—I wouldn't know if I'd put it _that_ way…."

"And I wouldn't put what you just said about _me_ 'that way' either!"

Diane sighed. "I thought you said you cared about how I thought…."

Sam smiled at her. "I do—when you're right."

Diane tilted her head, looking at him with an amused half-smirk.

"While we're at it—you think maybe you're a little torn, yourself?"

Diane frowned. "What…do you mean?"

"Well, you're sure proud about being on this 'higher' level than just about everyone else in the room…but on the other hand, you're a little afraid of the world."

Diane blinked. "Come again?"

Sam grinned. _Two _can_ play at this game!_ "You know exactly what I mean. Every time you try some kind of life outside the bar, something happens, or you panic…or you go _nuts_—"

"_Sam_…"

"I'm just saying, after that pile of…whatever-he-is dumped you, your only 'stable' kind of life…it's been downstairs, in the bar."

Diane said nothing. She raised the mug to her lips—and flinched at the empty cup.

Sam waved over the waiter. "Hey…let's have a refill for both of us."

"Right away, sir."

Diane nodded to Sam with a smile, "Thank you, Sam."

"No problem."

Yeah…she'd asked if he'd be including refills as part of the deal, for her to come up with him to _Melville's_, and have with him the last two slices of cheesecake. She'd asked if his offer included coffee—"Maybe." And a refill?—"Don't push it."

_Yeah…and she gets it. I'll bet she knew she would. She always knows. Sheesh, how "perfect" can a woman get? Yeah—perfect—even the crazy parts. _Perfectly_ crazy! Boy, I'm glad it's over between us! Or am I, and is it?—oh, shut up!_

As the man left, Sam noticed Diane also looked pretty deep in thought, herself. He pulled another penny from his pocket, holding it up to her with a smirk.

Diane shook her head. "It's all right, Sam. I…I was reflecting on what you said."

"And…how about it?"

Diane smiled again. "I suppose, in your better moments, you truly are an astute observer of human nature."

Sam smiled.

"At any rate, perhaps you're right. Perhaps after Sumner—left me…I found myself afraid to seek my own way. I was so outwardly confident of being so capable, but…inside, I was—frightened. I was unsure of my place in the world, and then…you offered me a job as a waitress."

Sam nodded. "That's right, I did."

Diane nodded quickly, swallowing. "Sam, I…well, looking back, over so many events in my life, since then—all those times…Sam, when I tried to find another career, and the only ones who'd hire me, did so only out of…physical _lusts_—why, if you hadn't offered to hire me in the first place, I'm sure and certain it would've been worse for me. I…I would've had nowhere to go."

"Well, um—"

"Sam, please…let me finish. When I learned Sumner left me, I was…all but crushed with despair—the despair of a broken heart. And you helped me to _heal_ from that—that…simmering turmoil within, those feelings of inadequacy, and inferiority…"

Sam frowned. "So…what are you saying, that I'm a hero or something?"

Diane's eyes welled up, as she nodded with a smile, "I-I think I can say—for all intents and purposes, Sam…you saved my _life_, that day."

Sam stared at her, unable to respond.

Diane shook her head. "I-I don't mean I would've…died—well, not _literally_, but…"

Sam nodded. "I get it," he muttered.

_Why me? Oh, of all the bars in Boston, the two of them just had to walk into _mine_. I knew I was gonna regret it…it filled my gut—I just _knew_! And you know what—I just wish…_

But for some reason, he just couldn't finish the thought.


	3. Chapter 3

The waiter came back, with two filled mugs. He set them down, Sam and Diane thanked him, and he left.

"Look—Diane," Sam said, "It's not that I don't like the…thought of you seeing me as some kind of 'hero', but—I'm not. To be honest, hon, I'm pretty shocked you said all that, as it is."

Diane chuckled, as she wiped her tears away. "I-I know, Sam. But still…what you told me, a moment ago…it actually helps me, realizing how deeply I owe you."

Sam shook his head. "No, you don't owe me a thing."

Diane smiled at him, with that perceptive look in her eyes he'd so often found so maddening and so captivating. "Don't I?"

"Well, okay, why don't we take all the times I hurt you inside—and call it even, or something."

Diane shook her head, still smiling. "It doesn't work that way, Sam."

"Oh yeah? And how would _you_ know?"

"Well, for one thing, I've already long forgiven you for all that—and to be honest, I wasn't exactly guiltless in our relationship. And you're right, of course—there are often times when I behave as though I know all the answers when…well, when I don't."

Sam sighed. "All right—Diane, how the heck did we start talking about this?"

Diane leaned back in her seat. "Well, let's see: we walked up the stairs, discussing the pros and cons of minimalism; then as we entered _Melville's_, we discussed our writing, and then _my_ writing…you brought up your desire to try your hand at reading literature; we discussed Westerns and Raymond Chandler—"

"Diane…you _know_ what I mean."

Diane chuckled. "Well, then…eventually, our conversation turned again to my novel-_long_-in-progress, you so clumsily insulted it, and we started deconstructing one another…which, ironically enough, led to my being stunned at the depth of certain feelings you hold, which I'd never truly considered—not even when we _were_ together—"

"Hold on, hold on: Diane, I'm not sure I like where this is going."

Diane shook her head in what looked like wonder, still smiling. "Sam…I should chide myself for never realizing it, but until tonight, I—I had _no_ idea you felt so…protective of me!"

Sam froze for a moment. Then he let out a scoff, leaning back as he shook his head. "Great—more 'hero' stuff."

"_No_…" Diane grinned, "Sam! For the longest time, I'd always suspected you'd first hired me merely because of _physical_ attraction—I admit, not entirely surprising, but—"

"Maybe I did," Sam muttered.

"Perhaps…and perhaps, underneath that burning desire, you felt—well, it's not simply that you felt 'sorry' for me—not _pity_, per se; but you felt as though I didn't deserve to face the world as I'd otherwise have to: alone, without any sort of guidance or direction whatsoever…and you felt as though I didn't deserve such a terrible fate."

"Okay—look. Maybe I was studying you throughout the day, and I saw something—'potential', I dunno—and maybe I thought I wanted to help…and I'll be honest, you sure as heck were _pretty_ as all—"

"Were?" she grinned.

Sam snickered, as he leaned to her. "You know what I mean, sweetheart. Anyway, it all fit kinda great in a glove for me…and I guess the rest is history."

Diane's eyes sparkled as she leaned to him, still smiling. "Then you're saying I'm right."

"Oh, please—I'd have thought you'd find the idea, what, 'degrading'. Come on! Treating you like a 'damsel in distress'—a pretty _distressing_ 'damsel', while we're at it…."

Diane shrugged. "Well, I suppose it depends on the context. But I suppose my time here has…well, 'softened' me to such concepts. Personally, I think it's a very sweet and romantic sort of thing…wouldn't you say?"

"What, you in distress or me being protective?"

She shook her head in amusement…then she looked off and upward, face aglow, "The…rogue _knight_, living by his own code, _priding_ himself on being accountable to no one…and yet, without admitting it to himself or to others, he's looking for redemption—which he finds in a moment of _grand_ chivalry, as he gallantly comes to the rescue of a young princess…innocent and vulnerable, yet spirited and highly intelligent, possessed of a certain _rapturous_ beauty of a most ethereal quality—"

"Aw, geez…" Sam rolled his eyes, "Come on, when I gloat about _my_ looks—"

"Why, _Sam_," she cooed at him with a smile, "I'm only evening the score!"

"Uh-huh."

"_Anyway_…" she resumed her position, "He comes to her in her darkest hour of deepest need, and is captivated by her…discovering a compassion he'd never known existed. And he rescues her, and they are inspired by one another to _triumph_ against the dark forces of the world…."

"And they all live happily ever after, huh?"

Diane turned to him. "Naturally," she said with a wink.

Sam paused, and let out a sigh. "This just keeps coming back to 'romance' with you, doesn't it?"

Diane laughed. "Well, you don't seem particularly willing to _brace_ yourself for it until it's too late…now, are you?"

They both leaned back in their seats. Sam took his coffee, drinking it _all_, until the mug was dry. Diane shrugged, and had a big sip of her own.

Sam shrugged. "Knight, huh?"

"Well, I suppose an archer would've been more in line with a…baseball _pitcher_, but—that story was already taken. Besides, I doubt you're one for tights."

Sam smirked at her. "I might try it out, you know—see if it can't help pick up a few—"

"Oh, _Sam_!"

"Hey, anything to ruin the mood."

Diane stiffened, lip tightened. "Well, you certainly _did_—and what I can't understand is, why on Earth are you so reluctant to discuss such things around me?"

"Come on, Diane—we tried it, remember? It didn't work out so well—"

"_Sam_—I recall your confessing to me, in the convent, that when you flew to Europe, it was with the intention of asking me to marry you—"

"Oh, you _had_ to bring that up. Come on, we _agreed_—"

"_Sam_, listen to me," Diane held up a forefinger, her gaze intensifying with her voice, "Those are _not_ the sort of feelings one can simply discard! They simmer within one's soul if one does not acknowledge and deal with them, and they threaten to _eat_ one up—emotionally, of course—until one _finds_ oneself…possessed of the subconscious need to allow said feelings to burst out, oftentimes in unusual ways that one would not expect—"

"Diane, _one_ person at this table is getting a little tired at your overusing the word 'one'."

Diane nodded slowly, pursing her lips for a moment. Finally, she relaxed and said, "To be perfectly honest, Sam, I think today's incident with Claudia is a golden—if you'll pardon the unintentional pun…a golden example of such a burst."

Sam chuckled. "Boy, you've really got an ego, don't you?"

Diane snorted. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, come on, you're so stuck on Claudia being some kind of clone of _you_—well, I tell ya, the woman's a walking freezer."

"You know that _now_. But you and I both know that, had you known this beforehand, you would hardly have been drawn to her in the first place."

"Well, hey—I took her for a challenge from the start."

"Sam—_I_ was a challenge. And you assumed that _that_ was what you desired—when in reality, it was hardly that simple."

"You know, Diane," Sam said, "I _really_ think you're so desperate to get _me_ to say I've still got some "torch" for you, so _you_ won't have to say you've got one for _me_."

Diane stiffened. "Why, of all the…" she seized her mug, and finished it.

Sam chuckled. "No fun when _you're_ on the receiving end, huh?"

Diane sighed, putting her mug down. "Sam, that isn't fair."

Sam nodded. "Right, well…do you?"

Diane huffed. "Do I _what_?"

"Oh, knock it off—Diane, you're always _so_ stuck on how I'm supposed to be nuts about you: 'Sam, when are you gonna tell me you're nuts about me?'"

"I don't recall using the word 'nuts'—"

"You know what I mean! So if you're so stuck on _me_ saying it—why don't _you_ say it, huh? Why are _you_ so obsessed with my feelings, if you don't feel anything?"

Diane looked at him. "Why does it matter, Sam? Is it that you want me to say it, so that…you can safely tell me the truth about _your_ feelings?"

"Funny, I just asked you the same thing."

Diane stared at him for a while, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Finally, she chuckled silently, in bitter amusement, shaking her head. "So that's it, then," she muttered.

"What's 'it'?"

She sighed. "Sam…somehow, I feel as though neither of us is willing to be…vulnerable to one another—neither of us wants to suffer the possibility of rejection by the other—however remote that possibility may be."

"Okay, honey—so how do we solve this?"

"I don't know…perhaps it _is_ how competitive we are—I want _you_ to admit it first, you want _me_ to admit it first—"

"Hang on: you sure you know what I want, here?"

"_Sam_…how many times have you tried to get _me_ to admit to being 'nuts' about _you_?"

"Well, you are!"

"_Sam_!—isn't it _obvious_ to you what I want?"

"Besides me? Not a clue."

Diane tightened her lip. "Sam," she said quietly, "Stop it—please."

Sam swallowed. "Honey, I—"

She looked at him. "'Honey'…'Sweetheart'…do you really mean all that, Sam?"

Sam felt a tug at his heart. "How do you mean?"

"You know to what I'm referring, Sam—when you say those things, do you _mean_ them? Do you really see me as…your 'sweetheart'—or is it only a line to you? A…_tease_?"

Sam tensed. _Just like her, again—taking little things like _that_…_

"It's just that I…" Diane pursed her lip for a moment, and blurted out, "Oh, Sam, I _can't_ settle for 'a day at a time'—I just _can't_!"

_Oh, boy…_ Sam set his jaw, saying nothing. He remembered when he'd said that to her—how he could _not_ make the kind of guarantees that Frasier could. And the look she'd given him, then—both touched by his heartfelt honesty, and so deeply hurt that _that_ was his answer…

Diane shook her head, blinking back tears. "I…I have to _know_, Sam. I need the reassurance I was so _certain_ we'd had, once, that—"

She cut herself off, hanging her head, eyes closed.

"Diane…"

Diane sighed. "Forget it. Just…forget it."

She rose to her feet—but Sam did the same.

"Aw, come on…" he said, as he headed over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Sweetheart…I'm sorry."

He hadn't meant to say the word again, "sweetheart"—and he hoped silently that she wouldn't ask about it again. She didn't—thank goodness. To be honest, Sam didn't really have an answer himself.

Diane sighed, and looked up at him, eyes still moist. "Oh, Sam, it isn't really your fault."

As Sam pulled his chair over, next to hers, and they sat back down, Diane added, "I…I just have to _know_ if…I could—Sam, I can't risk giving my heart to a man, when I can't be sure he feels the same way. I would _have_ to know, without any ambiguity _whatsoever_, that he…that he doesn't see me as—well, _only_ as a lover. I can't do that again. I have to _know_ that I'm…"

Sam put his arm around her again. "That you're what, honey?"

Diane blinked, and whispered, "Perhaps it'll sound _funny_ to you, but—I have to know that he sees me as…as even more than just 'important' to him. Whoever it'll be…I have to know that I'm _special_ to him—truly special. Is—is _that_ too much to ask?"

Sam swallowed, and looked off, staring at nothing in particular.

_"Special"…oh, great—now, how am I supposed to handle this? Of _course_ she's special to me—she's a darn good friend, and I'll always _like_ her—and darned if I won't always want—_

"Sam…?"

Sam sighed, and stared at her. "Look, honey, I don't know what to say to that, to be honest. Diane…I don't know _how_ I feel, okay? I mean—there are times when I don't want anything to do with you, and other times—like right now—when…"

Diane straightened up as she looked at him—her eyes wide, with a faint open smile, as if she were bracing herself for something wonderful. The glow in her face was enough to melt any guy's heart….

_Oh, she's beautiful. God, the prettiest woman you ever sent my way just _had_ to be the one who drives me the most INSANE!—and not always in the good way_….

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Honey, I honestly don't _know_. You're a…'special' person, sure—but does that mean I l…I lo—well, you-know-what?"

Diane blinked, and chuckled silently.

Sam shrugged. "Well, that's it—I don't know if it means…_that_, or not. I-I guess I _thought_ it did, when I flew to Italy, but…I don't have a clue if that was just crazy or not. Until I do…" He shrugged again, and tried to smile. "That about good enough, for now?"

Diane swallowed as she stared at him in silence…and she smiled. "For now, I suppose."

"Yeah…" Sam chuckled, as he patted her shoulder.

The waiter came back. "Will—that be all, sir?"

"Check, please?" Sam asked as he let go of Diane.

"Right away, sir."

As the man left, Sam turned to Diane, who was looking off in silence. "You okay?"

Diane shrugged. "I'm not sure, Sam. All we said, here…well, I suppose it all needed saying." She turned to him, and smiled. "I hope you'll still want to continue your…visits to the library."

"Hey, don't worry about it—I got a few ideas, right now. So…you gonna finish that book?"

Diane shrugged. "As I said, Sam, it'll involve the right time and circumstances."

Sam nodded…and felt a smirk as a thought occurred to him. "You know, come to think of it," he said, "I kinda liked the 'knight' part."

Diane chuckled silently. "Well…oddly enough, Chandler often made it a point to compare Phillip Marlowe with a knight."

Sam laughed as the waiter showed up with the check, leaving it on the table, and left. Sam paid up with a tip, and turned to Diane. "Well, I'm no detective."

"_Certainly_ not."

As they stood, and left for the stairs back to _Cheers_, Sam turned to Diane once again. "Hey…didn't that girl call him at the end of the last book?"

Diane blinked…and smiled. "Linda Loring?"

"Yeah, I mean—not in _Long Goodbye_, but the next one—the last one, you know…."

Diane paused, looking off to think. "Why…yes, I recall she did!"

"There you go."

And then Diane turned to him with another smile, and a glint in her eye, "And as I _recall_, Sam…they agreed it was time for them to marry."

"_Oh_, now—now _that's_ not fair!"

Diane shook her head, with a grin. "_You_ brought it up, my darling…."

Sam let out a sigh. _Yeah…I kinda did._

Without much warning, the words of a song filled his head—something by Billy Joel. The past year and a half or so, hearing it on the radio or wherever tended to make him feel a little eerie inside, whenever he heard it:

_She is frequently kind—and she's suddenly cruel…_

_She can do as she pleases—she's nobody's fool…_

_And she can't be convicted—she's earned her degree…_

_And the most she will do_

_Is throw shadows at you_

_But she's always a woman to me_….

And Sam Malone tried his hardest not to notice that the hand of Diane Chambers was in his own, as the two of them walked down to the bar together.

* * *

**A little closing note: I strongly recommend checking out Billy Joel's song, "She's Always A Woman", which I quoted above. Really, how much the words scream out the angst of Sam's feelings towards Diane is just eerie...**


End file.
